19. Stone
Chapter 19
Stone
T he journey home is silent, heavy with things unsaid. Jax is driving, hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he navigates the dark roads. In the rearview mirror, his gaze keeps flicking to me and Ren in the backseat, his face illuminated by the passing streetlights.
I let out a long breath. The day has been torture. I couldn’t think about anything else apart from that omega stuck in my cabin, the scent of her perfume, the fact that she’s ours and I have no idea how to tell the pack. And then there’s Finn. My worry has morphed from how I will break this news to how it will utterly destroy him.
Ren sits beside me, radiating tension. He hasn’t stopped fidgeting since we left the office, his fingers drumming against his thigh in an endless, restless rhythm.
“We should have called,” Jax says suddenly, breaking the silence. “To check if he ate.”
Ren’s scoff is sharp. “Because that would make up for everything else?”
“Look, Ren—” Jax starts, then stops. His jaw clenches. This is hard on him. He isn’t only walking on eggshells around Finn, he’s having to do it with Ren, too. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. ”
“He’s not okay,” Ren says flatly. “None of this is okay.”
The truth of those words settles like lead in my stomach. My mind drifts back to the cabin, to Hailey. It’s just another reason why telling them of her existence is so hard.
“We’re trying,” Jax says quietly.
“Are we?” Ren’s voice is cold. “Because from where I’m sitting, we’re just making everything worse.”
Jax’s jaw clenches again and the silence envelops us once more.
Time feels like it’s ticking by slowly, as if it’s been moving at a snail’s pace all day. Meetings dragged into other meetings until my brain went numb. Tapping my phone screen, I see the time is just after midnight.
I’ve been gone the whole day. I hope the omega, Hailey, is alright. She’s not like Finn. Of course, she isn’t. Finn has had a relatively regular life as an omega while Hailey suffered at the hands of some cruel organization I still can’t find any intel on. Finn is used to being alone, and even if that’s not right—omega’s need to always have some level of comfort and surety—he’s stable.
Since discovering Hailey, this is the longest I’ve left her alone in that cabin. I have to hope she stays put. Three days trying to gain her trust and it feels like we’re barely moving.
I let out another huff of a sigh and Jax’s gaze finds mine in the rearview.
“We have to tell him,” Jax suddenly says. “But we have to all agree to. We have to tell Finn exactly what happened two and a half years ago.” His words hang in the air between us, demanding an answer I’m not ready to give. A flash of silver pulls my attention to the road—a car weaving erratically ahead. My heart jumps into my throat.
Jax’s curse is drowned out by squealing tires as he slams the brakes. The seatbelt bites into my shoulder as our SUV pitches forward, the world tilting as the silver sedan cuts across our lane, close enough I can see the driver’s oblivious face in their side mirror .
“Fuck!” Jax curses, gaze flicking back to the rearview. But this time, his gaze doesn’t find mine. It goes to Ren.
The silver sedan speeds away into the darkness, but we’re all frozen in place, the echo of screeching brakes still ringing in my ears. Through our bond, I feel the moment Ren’s composure shatters—his anxiety spikes sharp like broken glass beneath my skin. His breathing changes first, becoming shallow and quick, though I know he’s trying to hide it.
“Pull over,” I say quietly to Jax, already reaching for Ren.
Ren shakes his head, his fingers now white-knuckled against his thigh. “I’m fine,” he manages, but the words come out tight, strained. “Keep going.”
But I can feel how his heart is racing, how the memories are crowding in—the screech of metal, the sickening crunch, Finn’s scent thick with blood. Through our bond, the echo of that terror bleeds through, no matter how hard he tries to contain it.
Jax is already steering the SUV to the shoulder. The moment we stop, I slide closer to Ren. My hand finds the nape of his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair there as I press my forehead against his. I expect him to shove me away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets me stay, my thumb stroking slow circles against his hairline.
His scent floods my senses—sandalwood tinged with smoke. The alpha in me responds instinctively, wanting to soothe, to claim, to protect. When his breath ghosts across my lips, my body stirs with familiar heat. Even now, even with everything broken between us, the pull is undeniable.
“Breathe with me,” I murmur, keeping my voice low and steady. “Just breathe.”
Ren shudders against me, and I feel the moment his control slips. His alpha scent deepens, becoming richer, more potent. My fingers tighten in his hair, drawing a low sound from his throat that ignites warmth that spreads low in my gut. The bond between us pulses with shared need, with memories of countless nights spent burning away our demons in each other’s arms .
But now isn’t the time. Not with Finn hurting, not with a strange omega in our territory. Still, when Ren’s hand finds my thigh, gripping hard enough to bruise, it takes everything in me not to respond. To not give in to what we both desperately need.
When was the last time we kissed? Even during Finn’s last heat, everything had been mechanical, clinical. We’d done what was needed, driven by biology and duty, but there had been no tenderness. Just pain and primitive instinct and the hollow echo of what we used to be.
My fingers continue their soothing motion against Ren’s nape, and gradually, his breathing starts to match mine. His scent is still sharp with anxiety, but the edge of panic begins to fade.
He draws in a shuddering breath, then another. His hand finds mine in the darkness, gripping hard enough to hurt, but I don’t pull away. I can feel him fighting it, trying to push down the panic, to maintain control. But his scent is saturated with distress, sharp and bitter with fear. The kinds of things you don’t want to smell on an alpha. The kinds of things he works so hard to hide from Finn every day.
In the front seat, Jax has turned around, his worry pulsing through our bond. We watch as Ren struggles to piece himself back together.
When my gaze finds Jax’s, I give him a slight nod. Jax is right. We need to tell Finn. We need to tell him why everything changed in the last two years.
Ren pushes against me, shoving me away. The ice in his eyes would chill me if I wasn’t used to it.
“Back off. I said I’m fine.”
Jax releases an audible breath from the driver’s seat. “You’re not fine. None of us are fine.”
Another car passes, its headlights sweeping through the cabin in slow motion. In that brief illumination, I catch the devastation etched into Ren’s features before darkness swallows us again. The shadows seem to deepen the hollows under his eyes, the sharp cut of his jaw where he’s grinding his teeth.
“We have to tell Finn,” Jax repeats, softer this time.
Ren goes very still. The kind of stillness that comes before something breaks. His scent turns sour, bitter with self-loathing. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.
“Tell him what, exactly?” The words tremble with what I know is carefully contained rage. “That I’m a broken piece of shit that doesn’t deserve to be his alpha?” His fist connects with the back of the driver’s seat, making us all flinch. “That this fucking rift between us is my fault? That the fact we can hardly feel him is all because of me ?”
“Ren—” I start, but he’s not done.
“Or what?” His voice rises, raw and ragged. “Tell him that all his scars, all his pain, the fact he died, was my fault?” A harsh, broken sound tears from his throat. “Or are you going to tell him that he wasn’t the only one I killed that night?”
The words hang in the air like torn metal. Sharp and ready to draw blood. Through our bond, I feel the moment the last of his walls crumble, leaving nothing but the bleeding wound he’s been carrying for two years.
No one speaks. What can we say? The truth has festered between us like poison, and now here it is, spilled into the open. Ren’s breathing is harsh in the darkness, each exhalation carrying the weight of guilt that’s been crushing him since that night.
Finally, Jax puts the SUV into drive again. The engine’s quiet rumble fills the silence where our words should be. We drive the rest of the way in a heavy quiet, each lost in our own thoughts, our own versions of that night. The streetlights pass in a steady rhythm, like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.
By the time Jax pulls into our driveway, killing the engine, we’ve all put on that mask of numbness we wear around Finn. For a moment, none of us move. The house looms before us, dark except for the porch light casting long shadows across the lawn. It used to feel like coming home meant peace, sanctuary. Now it feels like walking into a minefield.
“It’s late,” I say finally. “We should…”
“Check on Finn,” Jax finishes, already opening his door.
The house is quiet when we enter, too quiet. Even at this hour, there’s usually some sign of life—music from Finn’s phone, the TV playing softly, something cooking in the kitchen. But tonight, there’s nothing.
Jax heads straight for the kitchen, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. “No dinner,” he calls back, voice tight. “Not even dishes in the sink.”
“You told him to order in.” Ren’s voice is rough and it’s clear that everything that happened in the car is still riding on him.
“Yeah,” Jax replies. “But did he?”
“Did either of you actually check?” Ren growls. “Did anyone call to make sure he was okay?”
When neither of us answer, Ren growls again. His fist flies toward the wall before he stops himself and growls low in his throat. I can see it in the way his body holds the tension that he wants to head upstairs right away to check on Finn. But he’s holding himself back. He doesn’t feel worthy to even be in Finn’s presence.
“I’m going up,” Jax says after a moment. “I need to see him.”
None of us points out that Finn might not want to see us. That he might be tired of our promises to do better, to be there more, to fix whatever’s breaking between us.
The stairs creak under our feet as we climb. I catch traces of cleaning products in the air—Finn must have been stress cleaning again. The thought makes my heart heavy.
When we get to the top of the stairs, the nest room door is closed. Unusual. Normally, Finn leaves it open, an unconscious invitation for any of us to join him .
Jax raises his hand to knock, then hesitates. “Maybe we should…”
“Let him sleep,” Ren finishes, that edge still in his voice. “Since that’s apparently all we’re good for lately—leaving him alone.”
“That’s not fair,” I start, but Jax cuts me off.
“None of this is fair,” he says quietly. “To any of us.”
We stand there in the hallway, three alphas who can’t even figure out how to take care of their omega. The irony would be funny if it didn’t turn out that we had another omega I’m currently keeping hidden from this clusterfuck that is our pack.
“Tomorrow,” Jax says finally, pulling me from my thoughts. “We’ll talk tomorrow. All of us.”
Ren makes a sound that might be agreement or might be derision. It’s hard to tell with him lately.
As they head to their rooms, I linger in the hallway. I need to go to the cabin, check on Hailey. Even with the exhaustion weighing heavy on my bones, and the guilt that sits like acid in my throat.
As I watch Ren’s then Jax’s door close, I lean against the wall.
We’ve fucked up so royally with Finn, it would be better if Hailey never entered this house. Never met any of us. Scent match or not, it would probably be better if she bonded with another pack.
The night air is crisp against my face as I make my way down the familiar path to the cabin. Guilt gnaws at my stomach—the fact I’m sneaking around our property like a thief and the fact I left her alone for so many hours.
When the cabin finally comes into view, it’s a dark silhouette against the star-studded sky. No lights on, not even a faint glow from the lamp. But that’s not surprising. Each time I’ve visited, I was always the one to turn on the lamp, not her. For an omega, she didn’t seem scared of the dark. But then again, she isn’t just any omega. She’s our omega. Our omega that’s been tortured and abused by some Reform Academy I’ve found zero information on.
The hours spent researching and pushing that investigator have turned up zilch. I’ll have to take it higher, and if I’m going to do that, then I can’t keep hiding her here.
My steps quicken as I walk up to the cabin. I tell myself that she’s probably sleeping, but something feels wrong. The air is too still, carrying none of her sweet scent.
I grip the doorknob, forcing myself to open it smoothly even though I want to throw it wide and rush in.
“Hailey?” I call softly into the darkness.
Nothing.
I wait for my eyes to adjust to the even darker interior of the cabin as I focus on where the cot is. I can barely make out the shape of the blanket I bought her. I’d had to literally smuggle it like it was a ton of cocaine just to get it to her.
Stepping closer, I call her name again, but there’s no answer. She’s usually easy to wake, or maybe that was just the adrenaline left over from her escape. Maybe she’s finally resting properly. I hang on to that hope as I step closer.
“Hailey?”
If she’s sleeping, I shouldn’t disturb her. But as I get closer, my brows furrow.
Flicking on the lights reveals an empty room. The blanket is on the cot, yes, but it’s cold when I touch it. No trace of her warmth remains.
“No.” The word comes out as a snarl, my instincts surging with the need to hunt, to track, to find. I prowl through the small space, checking every corner, though I know it’s futile. The bathroom is empty. The clothes I brought her are still in their neat pile.
Her scent is stale, too—hours old. She’s been gone all day.
While I was sitting in meetings, while I was dealing with pack drama, she was out here alone. Afraid. Running.
“No, no, no,” I burst out of the cabin, nearly taking the door off its hinges. “Hailey!” My voice echoes through the darkness, but only silence answers. The night air is crisp. She’ll be freezing out here.
Forcing myself to think rationally, I try to track her scent. But I’m not a fucking dog or a wolf. I can’t track her that way. Never mind that it’s pitch black out here. “Think, Stone. Think.”
“Fuck.” A nervous energy rolls through me as I head back to the cabin, grabbing a torch from where I keep them underneath the table. The beam slices through the dark like a knife, catching on branches and leaves, creating dancing shadows—none of them her.
“Hailey!” I call again, moving deeper into the trees. “It’s Stone—I’m sorry I was away so long!”
She’s run and that means she’s gone deeper into the forest. Probably over the fence again. Shit. I’ve been so focused on getting back home, I didn’t check the perimeter report. But then again, the system hadn’t sent me any alarms either.
“Stupid,” I growl, shoving through a thick patch of undergrowth. Branches snap against my face, but I barely feel them. “So fucking stupid. You knew better than to leave her alone.”
I should have brought her to the house the moment I found her. Should have trusted my pack, trusted we could deal with this. Instead, I let fear rule me—fear of disrupting the fragile balance we’ve built, fear of adding more complications to our already strained relationships.
The beam of my flashlight catches on something—just a deer trail, but my heart lurches anyway. Every shadow could be her. Every sound makes me whirl around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her hair or her small frame wrapped in my shirt and my sweats.
“Hailey!” I shout. Hoping beyond hope that she’s out there listening. “Please! Just let me know you’re okay!”
The forest swallows my words. The temperature has dropped significantly since sunset, and the thought of her out here, alone and cold, makes my chest constrict with panic. Is she warm enough? Did she find shelter? Or is she still running, pushing herself beyond exhaustion?
I stumble over hidden roots, catch myself against rough tree bark. The moon and the flashlight provide just enough light to navigate, but the shadows are playing tricks with my vision. That could be her behind that tree. That could be her curled up under those branches. But it never is.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I call out, voice growing hoarse. “I just want to help. Please .”
Hours blur together as I search. I check the entire fucking perimeter, circling the entire property, and still turn up empty-handed. She just…gone. I even return to the cabin, collapsing on the porch as my chest heaves. She hasn’t returned since I left, and I found no evidence of her between the trees surrounding our property.
For several long minutes, I consider hopping the perimeter fence and pushing deeper into territory I barely know. But the forest seems endless, full of hidden valleys and dense underbrush where a small omega could easily hide—or get hurt.
She wouldn’t have gone back over the fence, would she? The thought makes me get up and begin searching again. I move faster, more desperately than before.
Dawn begins to paint the sky in pale grays when I finally stop, leaning against a tree to catch my breath. My suit is torn from pushing through brambles, my hands scratched and dirty. But none of that matters. All I can feel is the hollowness spreading through me as each passing hour confirms what I’m becoming increasingly afraid to admit.
I’ve…I’ve lost her.
The thought brings a pain so sharp it steals my breath. Not just physical attraction or alpha instincts—though those are certainly there—but something deeper. In the few days I’ve known her, she’s worked her way under my skin. Her quiet strength, her resilience despite everything she’s been through, the way she looked at me with such tentative trust…
And I betrayed that trust by leaving her alone, by not bringing her into our pack immediately.
I collapse to the ground, chest heaving.
As the first rays of sunlight filter through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor, I know I should head back, face my pack, tell them everything. Maybe they can help search. Maybe?—
My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me. It’s Jax.
Fuck. I can’t…
The thought of having to talk to him now…
But I can’t not answer his call. With everything that’s been happening, with what happened last night in the car, I’ll only stretch the threads between us farther apart.
“What?” I try to keep my voice level.
“Where are you?” His voice is tight with worry. “Your bed hasn’t been slept in.”
I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against rough bark. “I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice raw from hours of shouting. “All of you. It’s important.”
“Stone?” Now there’s genuine concern in his tone. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain everything. Just…” I swallow hard. “I need help. She’s out here somewhere, alone, and I can’t—I can’t find her.”
“She?” Jax’s confusion is clear. “Stone, who?—”
“Please,” I cut him off. “I’ll explain everything. Just help me find her.”
There’s a long pause, then: “I’ll wake Ren. Where are you?”
A huge lump forms in my throat for what I’m about to do. What I’m about to undertake. The entire pack is about to be forever changed.
“No. I’m coming back. Wake Ren. Don’t wake Finn. Not yet. He can’t…I don’t know how to?— ”
“Stone, you’re not making sense. Hurry back and we’ll talk about this.”
The call ends as I sink at the base of the tree. The morning air is cold, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is Hailey, somewhere in these woods, probably just as cold and alone as she was when I first found her.
Only this time, it’s my fault.
Rising, I stagger. Exhaustion finally taking its toll. As I head back to the house, I see only empty forest before me, the morning light creating strange patterns through the leaves. And somewhere out there is our omega, running from the only safety she’s known in years.
I have no one to blame but myself.